


If Ducklings Stop to Smell the Roses

by fgrefee



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fgrefee/pseuds/fgrefee
Summary: When a new doctor comes into PPTH and piques the interest of one misanthropic diagnostician, will House possibly have met his match? A multi-chapter study on how a third person might add to the House/Wilson dynamic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is a rather long, multi-chapter fic that I've published elsewhere and am hoping to get some more traffic on here. Its going through some editing, but updates should be pretty regular, since its all already written. I'll try to keep the author's notes to a minimum, save for what's relevant to the timeline, and I hope you enjoy!

As she awoke, daylight was just beginning to slip through the blinds and curtains in the otherwise dark room. Even that amount of light though, elicited a groan from deep within the blankets and pillows on the bed. This was the fifth week in a row that she'd woken up with a splitting headache, and she was about through with it. She'd tried everything she could think of: more sleep, less sleep, neck support, all kinds of over the counter drugs, mediation, massage. Nothing worked, and it was getting to the point where she wouldn't be able to effectively do her job much longer. Not that she really had one to do at the moment. Since she'd gotten home from that damn mission in Africa, nothing had been quite the same. It had been two months since she'd gotten home, and after everything that had happened, all she wanted to do was get on with her life. The days of being a federal agent were over for her.

For the last two months, she'd been volunteering her time at a free clinic in Princeton, NJ-- her long forgotten medical degree suddenly coming back into use. She'd graduated with honors from Harvard's School of Medicine, and interned at Mayo's the summer following. She held specialty in Transplant Surgery and Oncology, and a stint at the VA had given quite a bit of rehab experience, but being a federal agent was ingrained in her blood. Her father had been for twenty years prior to her joining up, and she followed in all his arrogant, intuitive, and bar-setting footsteps. She'd done well as an agent, solved cases, saved lives. But at forty years old, after being an agent for fifteen years and only using her medical skills in emergency situations, it was about damn time she get back into the swing of things. She'd been a great doctor when she first started, a natural in fact, but now the doors were open for what she really wanted to do.

She rolled over and groaned again. The headache was creeping into her neck and back, in fact, her entire body was sore today. She'd seen three doctors this week alone, and none had even begun to figure out what was causing it. Two neurologists had viewed and reviewed CT scans and MRIs, and none could find a reason for the consistent migraine. One had even tried to refer her to a psych consult, thinking she was imagining the entire thing. That was certainly not the case. A few days ago at the clinic, she'd heard a nurse speaking of a doctor at a hospital she'd been employed at, a doctor who was known for solving the unsolvable cases. She'd looked into it, and Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had a free clinic. That was a start at least, and a change of pace from the drug addicts that she was dealing with on a daily basis at her job.

After a painstaking hour of getting up and showering, she drives herself to PPTH and enters the clinic. Her five foot frame held proudly, long dark hair swishing around her rib cage and deep, dark eyes perceiving everything that occurred around her in the busy clinic waiting room, she does her best to ignore the pounding at the base of her skull.

She quickly fills out a patient chart with her information and brings it back to the desk.

"Nurse, could I request to be seen by Dr. House?"

The nurse scoffs. "Miss, you can certainly request that, but there are plenty of competent doctors here that will gladly see you."

"I'd like to see Dr. House," she replies curtly, scowling at the woman.

 

\-----------------

After three hours in a hard plastic chair, she’s finally escorted to an exam room and told the doctor will be in shortly. 

Another thirty minutes pass, and she’s just decided to lie down on the exam table as a tall, grouchy looking man with a cane enters and plops down on the stool with a small grunt. He looks at her expectantly, and she, grimacing, slowly sit up. 

Blinking a few times, bored, his blue eyes soften ever so slightly as she squints at him, her contempt mirroring his. 

"What’s wrong with you?"

"Hello to you too, Dr. House."

"What's wrong with you?" He repeats, petulantly.

She sighs. Clearly, he’s not one for pleasantries. Which, in the life she'd just left, would've been a good thing. But perhaps not for a doctor. 

"I've had a migraine for weeks and now joint pain despite sleeping twelve plus hours a day. I've seen multiple other doctors who claim to see nothing wrong. The symptoms began appearing shortly after returning home from nearly two years in Africa."

House sits forward, shrugging bit. Somehow, the woman in front of him knew his reputation, and, although she presented an interesting case, he was going to have a little fun with it.

"Look, Dr. House, I know you haven't even looked at my file, and there’s really nothing much to see,” she starts, gesturing lamely at the unopened folder he left by the door, “but you might notice my title. I'm a doctor as well, and I know that these symptoms are not products of my imagination, nor are they coincidental with my trip to Africa. As far as I've heard, you're the only one crazy enough to believe it’s just not the product of stress and aging."

She continues to stare at him as he glances around the room, both annoyed and increasingly seeking to be done with this pseudo medical exam. 

"Tell you what,” he starts, raising his eyebrows. “I know what you have, and so do you. And I hate boring cases, but I hate this more.” He gestures around the room. “So here’s what we're gonna do. You come upstairs we'll run all kinds of silly tests and keep you here till the end of the day as my 'patient.’”

She nods, sliding down from the table as Dr. House follows suit, grimacing as he regains his balance. She smirks momentarily upon seeing the height difference between them, and he, with intentionally long strides, leads the way to the elevator.

Arriving in the office, he throws her file on the table, muttering “patient” as he goes to pour a cup of coffee.

She stands there awkwardly, glancing at the other three doctors. 

The thin blond speaks first. "Who's she?" 

House opens his mouth to answer, and snaps it closed, realizing he doesn’t actually know her name. 

"Dr. Rosemary St. John. I'm the patient he's talking about."

Stated bluntly in a thick Australian accent-- "You don't look sick." 

She rolls her eyes as the last doctor at the table stands up to shake her hand.

"Dr. Eric Foreman.” She shakes his hand firmly and takes that as a queue to sit down as House begins writing her symptoms on a white board. 

In front of her eyes, the doctors begin spewing conditions from A to Z that could explain headaches and joint pain. House makes a few notes on the board and, ideas having run out for the moment, begins ordering tests. 

The three doctors escort her out of the office, leaving House pretending to puzzle over her case file until they’re out of view. 

\------------------

When they'd finished with their samples and scans and examinations, Rose returns to the office while the others head down to the lab to process the tests. 

House is still seated at the table, coffee in hand and a medical journal open in front of him.

"Is it not relevant to have mentioned that I spent two years in Africa?” She asks lightheartedly, pouring herself a mug and sitting across from him.

He shrugs, not looking up. 

She rolls her eyes. "I’m pretty sure its Trypanosomiasis, which, if I'm correct, should probably be treated immediately."

House smirks, still not looking up as he fishes a glass vial out of his jacket and slides it across the table. 

She picks it up. Pentamidine. Nodding slightly at him, she pockets the vial just as a handsome brown haired man enters the office.

"Hey House! You want lunch?" 

He stops upon seeing Rose, glancing between the two. "Oh sorry, hooker?" he asks, gesturing to her quizzically and fixing House with a look. 

"Excuse me?" she demands, rising and spinning around to face him, her shock abating when she meets his brown eyes. House scoffs behind them, sipping his coffee in amusement.

"Dr. James Wilson" he stammers, gulping as he sticks his hand out to shake.

"Doctor Rosemary St. John" she replies, shaking his hand with a slight smile, medical articles with his name floating through her mind. 

He looks to House for help, but before he can bother to say something sarcastic, his pager goes off and he rolls his eyes as he heads out of the room. 

Wilson rubs at his neck, staring awkwardly at the woman in front of him. 

"Look, Dr. St. John, I'm really sorry. It’s not you, it’s just that House and random women suggests the worst, usually. Not that he's a bad guy, he just… I mean… I assumed…”

"Dr. Wilson, call me Rose. And it’s fine. I get it, he's…”

Wilson nods in response, neither completing a thought. He shifts his weight awkwardly.

"So… lunch then?" He asks, thankfully eliciting a laugh from Rose, who follows him out the door. 

\-----------------

Meanwhile in the lab, House's ducklings were busy quacking away.

"So what did you think of that Rosemary?"

"She seems smart enough, but I don’t know why House is bothering with this."

"I know. Odd, right?"

"Are we sure she's actually a patient. So far I see nothing wrong with her."

"Well she's definitely a doctor. I looked her up. She published a few articles in the late nineties."

"I wonder what House sees in her."

"Could we get back to work guys, this is going to take all day as it is?"

The other two doctors nod in agreement. Whoever Rose was, she talked House into taking her case somehow, and they had a curious feeling that solving her case wouldn't be the last they saw of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any medical inaccuracies are entirely my fault.

"What do you mean you found nothing?"

The ducklings stare at the files on the table, full of medical tests of all kinds that all say the same thing. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Rose. And, because all House wanted to do was play a game, Rose wasn't getting any worse. In fact, she'd already started her first round of anti-parasitic. She sits at the head of the table and continues to drink her coffee without giving away the game.

"Why the hell is she here anyway?" demands Foreman, exasperated, "patients belong in patient rooms, not in their own differential. We've never made exceptions for other doctors before."

"Oh great dark one. Making exceptions because she's a doctor is exactly what you've all been doing."

Rose nearly gags at the quip, but the other three, apparently used to House’s prodding, just look at each other quizzically. 

"Just because she's not in a patient room doesn't mean she isn't a patient. Patients lie. Haven't I taught you that already?"

Foreman peers at Rose incredulously. "You're a doctor! Don't you know what is medically relevant?"

She sighs, glancing to House, who nods. "I do. Yes. I told Dr. House that I had spent the past two years in Africa when I saw him in the clinic. He asked me to wait until one of you asked directly about travel. Which, you never did."

House smirks approvingly, waving a script for the anti-parasitic around emphatically.

The ducklings stared open mouthed. "Need I remind you that had she gone untreated much longer, Trypanosomiasis would've done irreversible damage? Never take anything for granted. Everybody lies. Now go find a real case, will you?"

The three younger doctors stalk off towards the ER and clinic, and Rose glances around, not knowing if she should leave or not and deciding to try and look occupied as House moves to erase the symptoms on the board behind her.

Halfway through, he freezes, hand still on the eraser. Rose can see his brow furrow and his eyes crinkle in pain. The cane in his right hand trembles dangerously. 

Rose, confused, quickly rises from her chair she was in, casually nudging it towards House's trembling figure, and crosses the room to refill her coffee cup, her back to the table. She hears the trademark noise of a pill bottle, and busies herself fussing with the sugar container.  
Sitting back down, adjacent to House, there’s a nearly undetectable flash of gratitude in his eyes before they return to their cerulean indifference.

Both doctors drink in silence, perusing a few files that had been scattered about the table from days before-- cases House didn’t take and never threw away-- neither knowing how Rose is to make a graceful exit. 

She scans through symptoms curiously, patient privacy clearly not occurring to either physician.

Extremely febrile 102+ x3 days. Dermatitis, unspecified. Nausea and abdominal pain. 

Afebrile after 4 days. Pitting edema in chest. Rectal bleeding requiring transfusion of whole blood x2 

Patient reports no previous significant medical history. Instances of flu after business travel. 

Rose squints, flipping through test results faster than before. Low white blood cell count is the only truly significant value, but given the obvious presence of infection this isn’t a surprise. 

“Did you look into this case at all?” Rose questions, looking up, her voice taking a tone of urgency. 

House puts his file down slowly. “Why?” he asks, not indulging her yet. 

“Is this patient here?” 

He takes the file from her, skimming the symptoms before flipping to the face sheet and pointing to a room number. 

“Come on,” she urges, rising and taking the file with her. He follows, more curious than anything. 

\------------------

Thankfully, only a nurse is in the patient room when the pair barge in, the man in the bed squirming with discomfort and half asleep with no other visitors.

“What’s his latest blood pressure?” Rose inquires of her, and she scowls at House, who nods, before answering. 

“135/90. Why?” 

Rose grabs a cuff off the supply cart in the ICU room, wrapping it around the man’s arm and pumping it up to 115, then dropping the bulb and staring at the man’s arm. 

“What the hell are we doing?” the nurse hisses, mirroring House’s own unspoken question. 

Rose holds up a hand in response to the nurse’s question and, after a few more minutes, points to the area on the man’s forearm, below the cuff. Its covered in small red dots, having appeared before their eyes.

“See? Petechiae” she says, holding back her excitement. “Its hemorrhagic dengue fever. You’re going to see organ involvement in the next few days, but he’ll eventually recover with highly monitored fluid balance.” 

The nurse says nothing, but extends her arm to escort the doctors from her patient room and presumably call the attending physician. 

\-------------------

When Rose and House have returned to the office, he finally demands an explanation. 

“Its called the tourniquet test. It’s the only sure way to diagnose without cultures. I spent some time in Pakistan in the early 2000’s for-- well it doesn’t matter why-- but I saw it done in village medical centers without testing. His previous instances of flu after travel were likely also dengue, but mild cases. Having it before increases the severity of other strains. The attending probably would have seen it if his platelets had tanked, but they’d been giving him blood for the rectal bleeding so--” 

House merely shakes his head, not managing to hide a slight smile as they sit back down at the table. 

A few more minutes pass, and neither doctor knows where to go next. 

"Where do you practice then, Rose?" House asks eventually, his voice breaking the silence with a slight edge, her name foreign on his tongue.

She sighs, figuring the question was coming. "Well, I practiced at the VA about fifteen years ago. But since then I'd been a federal agent. As of a month ago I've been at a free clinic on the other side of town."

"How does one go through the work of a medical degree, and end up as a cop for fifteen years?" His words are more judgemental than intended, but Rose just grunts, agreeing with him.

"One follows in the footsteps of her father rather than her own dreams." 

He grimaces, saying nothing else and Rose rapidly tries to justify her statement. 

“It wasn’t all bad. I ran lots of classified missions overseas when I was younger but more recently I’d been stateside, consulting for major case teams around the country-- It was… a lot like this, actually.” She gestures to the files and the white board. “And then of course I ended up stuck in desert Africa for two years with no escape but…” 

She trails off, shutting her mouth with a sharp inhale and looking away from House who awkwardly clears his throat. 

"What do you specialize in?"

"Well. I went through oncology and ended up at transplant surgery. Plus I got enough experience at the VA to probably qualify for a rehab certification, but I never actually took the boards."

"Would you care to practice some place else?" His question sounds loaded, but the conversation has been unnatural, so Rose shrugs it off, continuing to answer.

"Well yeah. I've put a few applications in. But eh. I don't exactly have the best resume for a prestigious hospital."

"What about diagnostics?"

Rose looks at him in shock, but he holds her gaze evenly, as though he'd suggested she get more coffee rather than offered her a job. She opens her mouth to speak, but just before she can, House shouts out the door at a passing black haired woman.

"Cuddy! Do I have room for another fellow?"

The woman stops in her tracks and sighs visibly. When she sees that Rose is not some young-out-of-medical-school-bimbo though, she enters the room.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine."

"Dr. Rosemary St. John. Pleased to meet you."

The woman looks between the two. "House. I am not going to give her a fellowship. It’s not like she’s just topped out of residency."

He shrugs. "So give her a partnership then."

Cuddy stands back, incredulous and nearly laughing. "A partnership? With you? I don't know anyone who’d be foolish enough to accept that."

"Dr. Cuddy, there’s no reason for all this, I was just lea--” 

House rises from the table before Rose can finish, crossing the room to his private office and fixing Cuddy with a look until she follows. Rose widens her eyes at the other woman, indicating she’s not in on whatever shenanigans House is working on.

Rose watches as House gestures loudly at Cuddy, who merely stands with her arms crossed and an indignant look on her face. 

After a few moments, Cuddy gestures for her to join them, and House leaves the room without another word.

“I can’t give you a fellowship after holding a medical degree for fifteen years. The board isn’t going to allow it, and neither is the departmental budget, in theory.” 

Rose nods, remaining neutral until Cuddy finished fleshing out her options. 

“However, it’s a provision with our policy that all departments can have multiple administrative positions, regardless of size. So, in theory, you could be co-heads. You’d be House’s partner. It pays more, more authority all of that nonsense, but what you have to realize is--” 

She sighs hard. “The advantage of working for House is the learning and carrying that name on your resume forever. It's his signature on a letter of rec. You just keep your head down and try not to piss him off too bad and absorb everything he says. But working with him… You’ve not seen him yet with an actual case, how he... gets. Working with him means you have to question him. You have to go against him and you have to deal with him and you have to keep up with him. And trust me, House is not easy to work with.” 

Rose blinks a few times, measuring her words. “Truly, I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, and I see your warning clearly, Dr. Cuddy. I could go on all day about having experience with difficult people and it wouldn’t matter. But,” she pauses, honestly contemplating, “I also don’t have anything to lose. It’s not about the money at all and I surely wouldn’t get an offer at any other teaching hospital. And, to be truthful, I not only miss being a doctor, but I miss cases. I miss solving puzzles.”

Cuddy chuckles at that-- the words all too familiar. “I won’t use you as a go between too much, but my final warning is that you’re going to find yourself citing ethical guidelines to me far too often.” 

“I’ll find a way to deal, don’t worry,” Rose quips back, smiling at the other woman. 

They walk back into the conference room, neither knowing what was to come of this new arrangement. 

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you lose your tolerance for him.” She jabs her thumb in House's general direction, teasing Rose for House’s benefit. "Oh and, I forgot to mention, your new colleague also volunteered you as a fill in for Dr. Wilson’s department, so long as he doesn't have a problem, I'll get the paperwork started with the board later." 

"That was easier than it should've been,” House mutters under his breath as Cuddy turns to leave. 

Having heard him, she whirls back around. "Don't get too excited-- I'll be glad to have someone who can handle going up against you as an equal.” She stops, shaking her head at her own words. “Dr. St. John, your position won't be confirmed of course until next week, so you won't have lab or prescribing privileges until then. But you'll be able to consult and have patient interactions starting whenever House decides to do any real work.”

Rose nods again, just as Wilson strides into the office, throwing a slight questioning look in the direction of the two women. 

"House, it’s after six. Are we going to get dinner or not?"

"Take the newest diagnostician in this hospital with you." Cuddy chides, exiting the office without explanation.

Wilson narrows his eyes at House, who says nothing, instead grabbing his bag and walking out ahead of the other two. 

\-------------------

Once seated and drinking and eating, House leaves momentarily to use the bathroom and Wilson immediately slams his drink on the pub table, staring at Rose. 

"Do you have any idea what this means coming from House?" Wilson demands.

Rose takes another slow sip of her beer, swallowing before answering. "What what means, James?"

"That he took your case on no merit. That he hired you. That he took you as an equal. That he even respects you as a doctor period."

Rose raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders, chewing a bite of food. She'd met a few characters like House in her career. People who were damn good at what they did, at the top of their game, and had the ego to match. Hell, she’d been one of them before that debacle in Africa. She knew what it meant, in theory, but there was more beyond what Wilson was implying, and she knew better than to dig into that prematurely. 

House returns then, and Wilson just shakes his head slightly, continuing to eat and the three return to light hearted banter and sarcastic conversation. 

To an observer, it would've seemed that Rose was as old a friend to the men as House and Wilson were to each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place one week after the previous chapter. I hope you're enjoying so far!

When House ambles into his office that morning just after 7 am, Rose is already sitting at his desk, thumbing through an office furniture catalog. He drops his backpack haphazardly and stares at her. She brushes the hair from her eyes and meets his gaze.

"You're in my chair."

Without argument, she moves to the armchair on the other side of the room. He grunts and sits down. Usually, he doesn't come in this early. But the leg kept him up nearly all night, and there's no sense in sitting at home when he can just as well sit at work.

"Cuddy suggested I pick out a desk to put in here. And she told me not to take any crap from you about it."

He grunts again. And then looks at the cup of coffee in her lap longingly. Without missing a beat, she goes to refill her cup, and coincidentally bring him a cup as well. Lots of sugar, no cream, just as he had the days before.

She sets down the coffee cup and a few cases that the ducklings had deemed House worthy late the night before, and he nods and grunts a third time. She decides that must be his equivalent of gratitude, and goes back to her catalogue.

"Morning Rose. House, you're here early." Wilson chirps as he strides past, his arms full of departmental paperwork. "Cuddy asked me to bring these to you, top half is stuff for your hospital and employment records. Bottom is a big 'how to' of departmental paperwork-billings and approvals for tests and all that. I can go through it with you over lunch, if you'd like."

"That sounds great James, thank you." Rose smiles amiably.

"Morning to you too, Jaaames." House mocks.

"And to you Greg." Wilson returns, smirking as he walks off.

Rose, groaning inwardly at the daunting stack of paperwork, picks a file off the top. Filling out her name and social security number would be the easy part. She'd had her fair share of paperwork in her past career. But if anything is for certain- it's that the junior partner always does the paperwork. House would make sure of that, Rose had no doubt.

"Do you always show up to work so early?" House asks, petulantly.

"If by early you mean on time, then yes. Dually so in my first week of a job."

"Well even better for me then, no necessity to even come in before lunch if one department head is here."

"You came in early today." It’s a statement, not a question, and House returns it with a glare. 

"Did you decide which of those cases you want?" she asks, quickly changing the subject. 

"I don't usually take a case till ten at the earliest. The ducklings will find something more interesting before then, I'm sure."

Rose goes back to writing down her address for the third time, House to his laptop. The silence that overwhelms the office is surprisingly pleasant. 

Bored with the paperwork, Rose gets up to peruse the journals and textbooks on the shelf next to House's desk. Clinical Journal of the American Society of Nephrology jumps out at her. She stands on her tiptoes to reach the fourth shelf, but is still about four inches short.

"Bored already?"

"Only so many times I can write down my personal information and answer the same questions. Would you mind?" She asks, pointing to the shelf above her head. House rolls his eyes and makes a show of getting up.

"You know, I think midgets are in demand in the workplace. It’s a wonder it took you so long to find a job."

"Last I heard, amazonians weren't so rude." Rose returns, looking at the face that towers over her by more than a foot.

House grabs the book off the shelf and proceeds to hold it above her head, smiling wickedly. Rose, having no chance of jumping high enough to get it, puts her hands on her hips and stares indignantly.

"I see the two of you are getting on nicely." Cuddy observes, as she strides into the office and holds out a hand to House, who hands her the book and drops his head- a child effectively scolded.

"I just came to see if you'd started on that lovely stack I had Wilson bring up."

"I'm almost done with the informational stuff. I'll have it to you after lunch, if that’s alright."

Cuddy nods. "Play nice House." 

Both doctors return to their seats, and the silence continues. That is, until it is broken by an unmistakable moan of agony. 

House had gone white. His eyes clenched shut against the waves of pain, grasping at his thigh for dear life. Had Rose looked up earlier, she might've seen the beginnings of the pain attack, seen his blue eyes cloud over, seen him start to rub at his thigh. He'd hoped it would pass before she noticed. But now the pain threatened to overwhelm him entirely. And much to his dismay, Rose does nothing. She simply stands and leaves the office.

"Wilson!" Rose nearly shouts as she barges into his office, one of his patients in mid-sentence. It only takes one look at the terror in her eyes before he leaps up and runs out of the office with her.

House, visibly shaking and sweating in his chair, looks up gratefully as Wilson and Rose return to the office. Wilson goes to work, kneels down in front of House and starts working on the nearly visibly spasming muscles in his thigh. Trying to make herself useful, Rose draws the blinds and locks the door, standing awkwardly away from the men, clearly intruding. 

From where she stands, Rose can see that House's lip is bleeding from how hard he's biting it to keep from crying out, and she can see that Wilson is massaging aimlessly, pushing against the muscle and aggravating it more.

"I'm going to have to go to the pharmacy to get it buddy. Hold on, yeah?" Wilson asks, trying to meet House's eyes. He blinks and Wilson rises and rushes from the room.

Rose observes for a few more painstaking moments, and then moves closer to House, slowly, as one would a stray dog.

"Let me?" she asks, gently. He nods. Anything to be rid of this right now.

Rose's small hands grasp firmly onto House's thigh, and she stifles a gasp. Under the torrent of angry muscle and nerves, a gaping crater lies where there should have been pounds of muscle. But that isn't important now. 

She begins to work on the muscle, remembering the times she did this for patients at the VA with similar injuries. Push into it, not away, be gentle, don't force, firm, but don't fight so much. Within a few minutes, she feels the muscles begin to relax, and with them the rest of House's body.

As Rose stands up from kneeling in front of House, Wilson returns with the vial of morphine. Stopping dead in his tracks, he gives Rose a small smile. He awkwardly hovers as House moves to the armchair Rose had vacated, and she mumbles something about leaving. 

Before she can, House jibes weakly, nearly asleep in the chair. "You can take the desk now, short stuff."

She smiles, gathering up her files and sitting at his desk. Wilson gives her a curious look on his way out, but says nothing. 

Rose checks her watch. 9:05. She knows that House has a solid hour to rest before the ducklings come up with a real case for the day, and she skims through the medical journal for a while, noting House’s name in the contents before returning to her pile of paperwork.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter directly follows the previous. Any dialogue you recognize comes from Episode 1x03 "Occam's Razor," and is not mine.

It takes only another half an hour before Rose finishes the stack of paperwork that she’s able without Wilson’s guidance, and she spends a few minutes peering at House's sleeping form.  
He seems relaxed now, the pain having ceased to etch his face with gaunt lines. Her hands twitch at the thought of the mangled muscle, craterous and raving. There must be several pounds missing, and Rose can only imagine what happened to cause it. She’ll have to ask Wilson later.

Cut short in her silent musings by House stirring from his sleep, she gets up to refill her coffee for the second time that morning, and listens to the sound of House popping what she presumes is some kind of opiate. When she comes back into the office, he's spinning his cane between his long fingers. He looks at her intently, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, but his face scowls in contrast. She smirks and goes back to his desk.

"Time." He mutters with a striking lack of inflection.

"Rose think time nine and half," she grunts back with a caveman affect.

He smirks and, opening his mouth to ask another question, Chase bursts in with a case file in his hand.

He looks a little surprised to find House at work already, but he shrugs and hands a copy of the file to both doctors. "Kid collapsed having sex with his girlfriend. Abdominal Pain. Blood pressure tanked, unresponsive to fluids."

Rose immediately rises to write these things on the board, in immaculate script. By the time House limps his way over, Foreman and Cameron have made their way in and all three fellows are intently reading the file.

"AHHEM" House obnoxiously scoffs, holding out his hand for the dry erase marker. Rose shrugs, handing it to him. He immediately erases everything she wrote and re-writes it.

"Not good enough?"

"Too neat. You sure you're a doctor?"

She rolls her eyes and leaves it be.

"Differential for low blood pressure, abdominal pain, cough, and rash?"

A few weak suggestions are tossed around, none of which hold any water.

"Dr. St. John, whatdya think?" House asks, and all eyes are on her-- this being her first real case. 

She breathes quietly before replying, surprised to find herself nervous. "First priority is getting his blood pressure under control. Sepsis is a decent possibility though. Start treatment with broad spectrums and get CBC, urine, the works. Plus an echo."

The fellows grunt their agreement, nodding to one another and looking back to House. 

He raises his eyebrows at them, slightly annoyed. "You heard the lady. Go." 

The team walks out, and, after scribbling down a few notes in her copy of the file, Rose rises to leave as well.

"Where are you going?" House asks, slouching back in his chair.

"To help them with the echocardiogram?" She returns, confused.

"Your name is on that door too, isn't it?" He peers over his shoulder, and, seeing only his name etched in the glass, rolls his eyes. "Well, it will be tomorrow I was told. People who have ‘Department Head’ on their badge and their name on a door don't run simple lab tests. That’s what the kids are for. We do the diagnosing.

Rose merely nods, stunned at House's assertion of her authority and sits back down with some trepidation. She hadn’t expected any of this to go very easily, but so far all she’d had to do was have a modicum of medical competence. To say she was tense was an understatement. 

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Rose mumbles that she’s going to take her paperwork to Cuddy, leaving the office without waiting for a reply from House

\---------------------

"Come on in Dr. St. John. Have a seat, I've got your badge and script pad in this mess somewhere. Just drop those files anyplace. How are things going with House?"

Rose debates telling her about the pain this morning, but decides against it. "Just fine. Picked up a case about an hour ago."

Cuddy nods, still searching her messy desk for Rose's things. When she finds them, she bids Rose a curt goodbye and goes back to her work, apparently not caring to ask anymore questions. If and when things went bad, she’d surely hear about it. 

\--------------------  
Three Hours Later  
\-------------------

Just as Rose walks out the cafeteria with Wilson after eating lunch, House strangely absent, her pager goes off. 

911 DDX 

She sighs, making her apologies and dashing back to the office.

"Patient's kidneys are in the toilet."

All five doctors stare at the whiteboard for a few minutes, glancing back and forth between one another and to their files.

"Maybe it’s the antibiotics that caused the kidney failure. Then we're back at square one," Chase notes. He grimaces at the board, hoping as everyone else does that a solution will scribe itself before their eyes.

"I just finished the urinalysis, and the bone marrow biopsy shows that his immune system is nearly gone," Cameron adds, frustrated.

House just shrugs. "Put him in a clean room then. We need more time." 

The team follows the order and goes to move the patient, leaving House and Rose alone once again.

Cough. Rash. Severe Hypotension. Abdominal Pain. Kidney Failure. Low White Count. 

"There’s nothing that explains all of this!" Rose exclaims suddenly, dropping her file onto the table. Her frustration goes unmatched as she looks to House, and she sips her coffee dejectedly, picking at the corner of her file.

Had she looked up again, she might have seen House’s face go blank, not entirely unlike the look he had earlier, at the beginnings of his spasm. This time though, his eyes don’t cloud over, rather, they stare through the whiteboard and beyond the walls of the office, medical texts and diagrams and symptoms swirling in the sea of blue.

Out of nowhere, he simply replies, “Gout.” 

"What the hell do you…” Rose trails off, reading off the symptoms again. She can feel House’s eyes on her as she’s puzzling over what he’s said. The ducklings return seconds later, and House repeats his diagnosis when they do. 

Chase squints at him. “Uh, are we talking about our patient?”

“Gout symptoms are pain, swelling, redness, stiffness,” Foreman gestures vaguely, “none of which I see on the board..” 

Just before House can respond, Rose whispers, nearly to herself, “Because he doesn’t have gout. He has gout medication. It blocks cell replication, which is great-- when you have gout, but since he doesn’t-- ” She gestures to the board, too timid to look back to House. “Pharmacy must have screwed up his cough medicine.”

The ducklings leave again to start the proper treatment, and House merely gets up, grabbing his backpack and keys from the inner office, and, catching Rose’s eye on the way out, gives her a small nod. 

Now alone, she shakily stands to erase the board and takes deep breath, her heart still pounding slightly in her ears. Gathering the teams files into a neat pile and grabbing her own bag, she smiles slightly, heading down to Wilson’s office to get help with finalizing the casework. 

\------------

Wilson opens his door as Rose reaches for the handle, bumping into her and scattering files on the floor. 

His face flushes as he rapidly apologizes, and the pair nearly bump heads when they bend over to pick up the papers. Rose giggles and smiles at Wilson as he hands them back to her, all facing different directions. 

He clears his throat, returning a lopsided grin. "I was just leaving Rose… Actually...Tell you what? I'm headed to House's for dinner, why don't you come along. I’ll show you how to condense the files there."

She shakes her head quickly. "James, I don't know how welcome I'd be with the two of you."

He shrugs, still smiling, and heads towards the elevators. "A case of beer in hand will greatly increase your chances. He’s at 221 Baker, apartment B. You stop at the liquor store, I'll grab the chinese."

She agrees and they get into separate cars. Wilson leads them to the same strip mall and then to House’s apartment, where he lets them in with his own key. 

\--------------------

When the two younger doctors enter apartment B, House is sitting on the couch, clad in only his t-shirt and boxers. Upon seeing Roses, his hand immediately slips down to cover his right thigh, and he fixes Wilson with a sharp glare. 

Grabbing her arm, Wilson whisks a wide eyed Roses into the kitchen, putting down the food and busying himself with plates and forks as they listen to House hobble to the bedroom- sans cane- to presumably put on pants.

"Look, I'll explain more fully later. But see if you can follow me now." Wilson hisses when the bedroom door clicks closed, his words rushed.

Rose nods quickly and he continues. "Five years ago, he had a femoral infarction causing muscle death. It took 5 days to figure it out and he elected for just bypass surgery instead of amputation. They induced a coma for the pain and his girlfriend authorized debridement. He’s got nerve damage, chronic pain, weakness, and,” he waves his hand vaguely, “that nasty scar." 

Rose grimaces, nodding again and wisely saying nothing else as House ambles into the kitchen. 

House carries with him a prescription bottle, and he snatches the beer that Rose had just opened and pops a few pills. She barely makes out the label before he slips the bottle into his pocket and goes back to the living room.

Vicodin. Prescribing Physician: James Wilson, MD. 

She cracks another beer, hands one off to Wilson, and they join House in the living room. Rose curls her legs under her in the armchair, Wilson sheds his tie and sits adjacent to House on the couch.

\---------------

When dinner is long since devoured and Rose is at her limit for televised monster truck rallies, she gets up and retrieves all the paperwork she'd brought in. The first few files are simple. She compiles all the notes from each of the team member's files. Puts the tests in order. 

Occasionally, she passes off files for House to sign off on, and asks Wilson for a short tutorial on the billing statements and departmental formalities. The three don’t talk about much else, but Rose feels more comfortable than she’d expected to. 

With all the paperwork finished and another long day ahead of her, Rose bids the men goodnight, quickly putting on her shoes and heading to the door. 

"I expect an IPA with the pizza tomorrow night, Rosemary."  
Rose chuckles at her full name, and glances over her shoulder with a smirk. "Yes, Gregory," she replies, shaking her head as the door clicks shut.

The mood in the apartment shifts from aimless tv watching to one of deep pondering.

The silence breaks after a few moments of thinking.

"She sure is something, isn’t she?"

"Sure is."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is followed directly by chapter 6.

He rises groggily from sleep to the unpleasant sound of an alarm. This early in the morning, the sun is just barely seeping through the curtains. It sure would be nice to wake up to natural light someday, but occurrences of that are few and far between. Haphazardly, he flings his hand to shut it off and pulls himself out of bed. The open window lets in some refreshing air, and it awakens his senses just enough to get moving. With a groan and some stretching, he makes his way to the bathroom down the hall, joints popping all the way. Forty has been making an appearance lately. The hot shower does wonders loosening up the tension from the night before-- he was up too late, had too many beers. He knows he isn't exactly young anymore and probably should take it easier than he has been, but there was something about last night that made it different from any other Tuesday. Someone perhaps. He dries off, blow dries his hair, shaves and dresses swiftly. He turns to the side and pokes at the tiny beer pooch starting to form. His soft, baby like face is beginning to crinkle in places. Oncology might be good for the conscience, but certainly not the appearance. Tie tied, he grabs his brief case and heads out the door to his Volvo. Like every morning.

She jumps a little when the radio pops on suddenly. She'd only been half asleep still and slowly pulls herself out of bed. Her heads a little fuzzy from the beers last night, but she feels good otherwise, and the cool spring air drifting in from the window smells lovely. She pops a few joints and strolls to the shower, leaving silk pajamas as she goes, pleasant goose bumps forming on her skin from the breeze. Fifteen minutes later, she steps out, long hair dark and dripping wet. She towels off, blow dries her roots. Her thick, straight hair would dry itself in time, and she wriggles her curved figure into a pencil skirt and blouse, finishing it off with heels and pulling her long bangs back, leaving dark almond eyes and a round face unshielded. She peers in the mirror. Her eyes pierce her image ad she sizes up her figure. Svelte lines from her agent days have begun softening to palpable curves, and she can feel the waistband of her skirt pulling around her belly button. A few wrinkles sketched here and there, but otherwise little indication of forty-two making an appearance any time soon. Coffee and takeout and late nights have been her only diet for years, and there’s no sense in changing it now. Light makeup applied, she grabs her tote bag and locks the door of her small condo, heading down to her car. This was becoming routine.

He groans when the muscle twitches for the umpteenth time this morning. He was hoping he could wait out the sun, let it get warmer in the room first. This was the second time he'd been unable to stay in bed later than dawn this week. Foolishly, he'd left a window open last night, and the cold air and the tiny hint of the scent of rain mean bad news. He gingerly flexes his toes, then his ankle, then his knee. A hiss of pain escapes his clenched teeth. His eyelids feel like cinder blocks, but he knows it will only get worse if he forgoes getting up. So, he sits up, twists around, carefully places his feet on the floor. Picking up the cane, he stands only with his left and tenderly shifts the weight to his right. The knee threatens to buckle, but when he's sure it will hold, he shuffles his way to the bathroom. Normally, a long, hot shower would offer relief, but today the relaxation is outweighed by the daunting task of standing, so he rinses off quickly, brushes his teeth, puts a hand through his hair. A glancing look in the mirror reveals his right shoulder and arm are considerably more muscular than his left. Things are starting to sag in a few places as he approaches fifty, but who does he care? He throws on his usual jeans, t-shirt and wrinkled oxford. Pops three Vicodin. Adorning tennis shoes, he grabs his car keys, knowing there’s no way he’d make it on the bike and silently hoping the thing still has gas. The old dodge sputters to a start and he sighs, wondering if he can drive with his left foot. This routine has been getting old for years.

\-----------------------

When Rose enters the office that morning, she notices a few things. Firstly, her name is lettered on the door, as promised. Secondly, the desk she picked had arrived and is sitting in the middle of the room. She hasn't figured out where to put it exactly yet, but it’s not that big. Thirdly, House's back pack is in the chair, but he's nowhere to be seen. 

She goes into the outer office and pours two cups of coffee. Setting both on House's desk, she slides out of her heels and begins to slide her new desk to the far wall of the office, ninety degrees from House’s and just left of from the chair. She sits behind it for a moment, and is pleased to be able to look into the conference room and see the whiteboard from her spot. Content with it's placement, she starts to unpack the box of office things she'd kept from her desk as a federal agent. She grabs her coffee and sits down just as House comes in.

He stops, frowns, grunts at the desk's placement, and sits at his own. He grunts again. Shrugs. Sees the coffee she left and takes a tentative sip. Grunts a third time.

"You do that an awful lot," she chides, without looking up from her laptop. "Last time I checked, you have to have basic language skills to get through medical school."

He grunts in response and this time follows it with a smirk. She rolls her eyes.

As she works, House takes to looking out the window and his thoughts drift. Dark hair and dark eyes take a swig of beer, devour a slice of pizza. She smiles, full cheeks rounding to reveal straight teeth. She laughs a full, hearty, beautiful laugh. Her fingers dance to the jazzy theme song of the television program, the motion precisely practiced. A small smile dances across his lips. A short figure cleans up the plates and beer bottles, snapping sarcasm back just as well as its dished out. A delightfully full, curvy, soft figure... the way it would feel under his hands... 

He shakes his head, hard, doing his best to banish the idea that she’d ever go for… that. 

\---------------------------

Wilson plops down in his office chair, coffee in hand. He's been at work twenty minutes, and already had to deal with three separate patient crises. He closes his eyes a moment, takes a deep breath. Suddenly, an image swarms his brain. An image of long, thick hair swirling around ample hips. Of dark piercing eyes, twinkling and laughing. Of sarcastic remarks with a bite that rivals House. She's been here two weeks. She gets along with House. How much easier could it get? He shakes his head to clear those thoughts. It’s only been a few months since his last divorce. There’s no sense in rushing.

He lifts his mug to take a gulp of the hot, bitter elixir, when his pager starts chirping. Again. Picking up the phone and dialing the nurses station, he’s informed that, this time, it isn't the usual cancer crisis. One of his patients, a young girl, was scheduled for a kidney transplant this afternoon. It was to be the victory battle with Leukemia. The surgeon who was scheduled for today ended up sick at home, and no other surgeons will be available. If she doesn't get the transplant today, Wilson realizes, the kidney will no longer be viable. Its due to arrive any moment.

Wilson rushes into the diagnostics office, barging into a differential. 

"Rose. Scrub up?" He asks, hopefully, talking over Cameron. 

House glares daggers at him from his seat at the table as Rose rises to speak with Wilson in the hall.

"You're a transplant surgeon, right?"

She nods. “I'm a tad out of practice though. I was scheduled to do a liver and a heart this week with some residents, get back in the swing of it. What's going on?"

"My surgeon called in sick this morning, kidneys on its way from Baltimore for a twelve year old leukemia patient of mine."

Rose sighs, nodding quickly. She had done plenty of kidneys in her residency. And this was clearly a matter of life and death. She gives a small wave in the general direction of the DDX, and she and Wilson speed to the surgical floor.

\------------------

Quickly introducing herself to the staff that was to assist the surgery, she scrubs in and enters the operating room to watch the nurses finish hanging all the blue fabric around the sight of the kidneys. The young girl, bald and clearly underweight, lies on her back. Because Wilson hadn’t wanted to risk hypertension from leaving the old kidneys intact, they would have to remove her kidneys first. 

The original surgeon had made a note that it would be best to do so through a single port laparoscopy, then an open incision on the left side for the new kidney. Rose introduces herself to the girl and reassures her that she would do all in her power to make sure everything went smoothly. The girl, named Lillian, is then anesthetized and Rose begins the procedure.

When the left kidney is removed, Rose steps back for a moment to survey the situation, and there's an intercom buzz as a nurse speaks from up in the gallery.  
"Dr. House would like to speak with you immediately, Dr. St. John."

Rose looks up. House stands there, looking down at her with his arms crossed and the trademark scowl on his face.

"I'm a bit busy House. What do you want?"

"Patient crashed. Tachycardia is a new symptom."

"My patient," Rose spits harshly, gesturing to the girl on the surgical table, "is quite stable, thank you." 

She spins back on her heel to the table to remove the right kidney with the same procedure as before and she refuses to let her mind wander to the diagnostic patient.

"AHEM" House scoffs over the intercom-- A nurse gave a sympathetic scowl to Rose across the girl’s unconscious form. Apparently, it wasn't her first time dealing with him either.

"House! I don't have time for this right now. I'm in the middle of a surgery. Surely you can come up with something without me for the moment. If you want to observe, by all means, do so, but there will be no DDXing." Not looking up, Rose gleans House’s reaction from the uneasy looks the rest of the staff give her as she continues. 

"She's not your patient, she's Wilson's patient."

Rose is about to retort when Cuddy thankfully enters the theatre. She can’t make out what’s being said through the glass, but Rose is certain that Cuddy is not happy. Soon after, the observation room is empty again.

The rest of the surgery goes extremely smoothly. The donor kidney implanted without a hitch, there was no bleeding where the blood vessels were connected, and the ureter connected to the bladder quite nicely. The anesthesiologist even complimented Rose on her unique, but extremely effective. suture pattern, and she scrubs out, pleased with herself.

\-----------------------------

"How'd it go?" Wilson demands anxiously as soon as Rose returns to the recovery room with the patient and several nurses.

"I wanted to watch but I had another patient crash and then Lillian's parents were concerned that no one talked to them before the surgery and I had to explain what happened with the first surgeon and then sit with them for a while and.." Wilson suddenly runs out of air, exasperated.

She smiles reassuringly. "It went very smoothly, James. I'll gladly speak to the parents now if that will make things better."  
The two doctors exit to the waiting room. Speaking briefly with the parents about the success of the surgery, Rose escorts them to recovery and assures them that Lillian will be waking up soon.

"Wilson," Rose requests when she exits, "Stop by the office later and grab my surgery notes and let me know how she's doing? I gotta go, surely House will be demanding my presence by now. He was a lovely interruption during the operation."

Wilson smirks knowingly and nods. He watches her leave, smiling a bit to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter directly follows the previous

Rose strides into their shared office, dressed once again in her regular clothes, and sits at her desk to finish her surgical notes for Wilson to review later. House pops some Vicodin and rises to glare down at her, his cobalt eyes flashing dark sapphire with anger.

"Need I remind you, Dr. St. John, that you are supposedly the assistant head of the Department of Diagnostics, and thus, Diagnostic patients are your first priority," he growls, nostrils flaring.

Rose had assumed that there would be no further mention of the attempted differential during the surgery. Evidently, she was wrong. Not one to take kindly to being yelled at, especially by those who were supposed to be her equals, she rises and steps around her desk, glaring up at House just as menacingly.

"Need I remind you, Dr. House, that I was volunteered as a member of oncology, and my assistance was of a much more dire need there than it was here. Your patient had four competent doctors to care for him. Without me, that little girl wouldn't have received her kidney. I took care of the priorities set in front of me."

"You might've at least made a relevant suggestion as to why the patient had tachycardia."

Looking at House incredulously, Rose spits, every word laced with venom. "Pardon me for wanting to concentrate on the surgery that I was performing rather than bow to your every whim!" 

"MY WHIM?" House roars, "I don't know about you, Dr. St. John, but I don't take pleasure in having a patient near death!"

"And I don't know about you," she hollers back, then lowering her voice dangerously, her eyes blazing with contempt, espresso hardening to ebony, "but I don't take my frustrations about my pain out on the colleagues I supposedly respect."

Without another word, Rose returns her desk and sits down, glaring at House and daring him to argue further. Their eyes lock with unbelievable tension, and just as their glowering was interrupted, there’s a microsecond wherein the blaze died, leaving an instantaneous perception of a cerulean to mahogany smolder.

Wilson enters the office cheerily, and stops dead in his tracks when both pairs of eyes darken again and turn to glare at him with intensity enough to make him physically take a step back. 

Rose, being more well adjusted, is the first to soften to Wilson. She hands him her surgical notes, and he backs away, muttering something about Lillian doing well.  
Rose shoots one last glare at House before returning to her work. Flipping through the pile of files on her desk, she learns that the patient with the tachycardia had been diagnosed with paraneoplastic syndrome and shipped over to Wilson's department. Which, had come with an immense amount of risky tests that Rose was now responsible for signing off on and billing appropriately.

While she works, she can feel House's eyes on her, and chooses to ignore it, not wanting to argue with him further. Little does she know, he’s observing her for another reason entirely. Just before Wilson had broken their little spar, the friction between them had caused a spark, and House wonders what might've happened if Wilson hadn't come in. Or if Rose had sensed the same thing.

Eventually, tired of ignoring the unrelenting stare that House had fixed her with, she turns to ask what his problem is, but before she can say anything, he catches her eye, and the intensity stops her demand. Her skin flushes and tingles under his gaze and she bows her head to mask the blush.

Moments later, Rose, still hyper-aware of House's intense observation, she reaches up and reflexively snatches the eraser flying at her head right out of the air, without even looking up.

Astonished, House gapes at Rose. She smirks at him. Then groans.

"Oh, no no no,” she laughs, “this is going to become a game isn't it? Test Rose's ninja skills from her secret agent days?"

"You're damn right it is." He grins a dopey grin and she shakes her head, realizing that’s as close as she’s going to get to an apology. 

\----------------------

"You get that case of beer yet?" House questions as he packs up his things for the day.

"Nah, sorry, you know, all this doctoring stuff getting in the way. Kidney transplants and the like."

"Pizza tonight?" Wilson asks, sticking his head in the door moments later and regarding both doctors equally.

Rose defers her answer to House, who nods. She tosses the files into her bag and the three walk out to the parking deck together.

\-------------------------

"Shit!" House bellows from his handicap space after several failed attempts to start his car. "Wilson, give me a ride will ya?"

Naturally Wilson obliges, and Rose drives away just ahead of the two men.

\-----------------

"So uh, what the hell was all that about when I came in to get Rose's surgical notes?"

"Oh, just arguing over which of us gets to sleep with you next, Jimmy," is House's snarky reply.

"Do you.. Do you, well.." Wilson rubs at his neck, glancing to House in his passenger seat.

"Do I what, Wilson? Spit it out."

"Do you think she'd actually want to?" He continues to rub the back of his neck as they get out of the car and walk up to 221B. "I was thinking of asking her out tonight."

House peers at Wilson, ascertaining if he's serious or not. When his curiosity is met with only sincerity, he disdainfully mutters. "Sure. Go ahead."

Wilson furrows his brow a second, then decides to let it go. You snooze, you loose.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for (somewhat) explicit sexuality.

All settled--with the promised IPA--the three doctors eat their pizza in comfortable silence. A light blues carries from the stereo in the background. House silently watches Rose's fingers twitch with the saxophone melody, his own flitting in time with the piano.

When they all finish eating, Rose gets up and wanders to the kitchen. Peering at the mass of dishes in the sink, she gets to work, knowing that no one will likely do it otherwise. It’s only been a few weeks that she's been working at PPTH, and this is only her third or fourth time with the two men, but she feels more comfortable here than she has any place in a long time. 

From the kitchen, she can hear the men chatting, and feel both their eyes on her back. Eventually, Wilson comes in to help. Something about the space between them is odd. He's tense. Apprehensive.

"Uh, Rose?" Wilson begins, rubbing the back of his neck. She looks up to him, eyes bright.

"How would you like to get dinner sometime?" He gives a hopeful smile.

She turns up an eyebrow and gestures to all the dishes and the empty pizza box.

"No, I mean…" He's interrupted by his cellphone ringing in the other room, in tandem with his pager angrily chirping. He goes to answer it. House and Rose listen to his half of the conversation. He hangs up and curses under his breath.

"Patient," is all he says as he hurries out the door, shoes in his hand.

Rose merely shrugs and goes back into the kitchen. The stereo gets turned up louder, and soon a blues piano melody is mirrored note for note. Rose, a few minutes later, peers around the corner to see House, eyes closed focusing on following the melody line, swaying with the music seated at his immaculate Yamaha. She isn't sure how long she's been staring when he finally open his eyes and catches her gaze. She flushes a bit, and smiles.

Changing the subject before it begins, she inquires, "did you catch what exactly happened with Wilson? I didn't hear his side of the conversation."

House shrugs.

"I think he just tried to ask me out." She smirks a bit. He's sweet. Caring. Loving. Attentive. Total long term material.

House snorts in response and starts picking at the keys. Shaking her head, Rose turns to finish what she started in the kitchen.

She hears the trademark step thunk, step thunk, as he follows behind a few moments later.

"You play an instrument then," he states, voice low and gravelly.

Hyper-aware of the quiet tension between them, she answers sweetly, if a tad slyly, "Clarinet mostly. Saxophone by association."

"No piano?" His eyes crinkle at the corners and his lips twitch upward.

"In the sense that I read music and know which order the keys are in. But otherwise not a lick."

He jerks his head towards the doorway, goes back out towards the piano. Rose follows and sits down at the bench, looking back to him.

He stands there a minute, wondering what the hell he’s doing and debating letting her leave and leaving the charming to Wilson. He’s already started, though, so, despite his premonitions, he joins her on the bench. She plays a few chords she knows, a few small childish melodies and he stretches out his long, nimble fingers and begins to play. 

Before he's aware of it, the music overwhelms him once again. He's lost to reality, a feather floating on the wind, not a care in the world. He forgets about the space around him, forgets about the woman on the bench, doesn't feel her eyes watching him intently. Music is one of three things that could absorb Gregory House in that way- so completely that he forgets anything else. The other two being drugs and pain. Once, there was a fourth, but with the chunk of muscle in his leg left a chunk of his soul, and that fourth option was long gone.

When he stops, he opens his eyes to see Rose staring at him this time. He reaches under the bench and finds a simple piece of music, the left hand part to a piece that was so complicated in the right, it had to be played with both hands. Mostly chords and easy harmony- at a slow tempo she could certainly read it. 

From a bit of a rocky start, the piece flows fairly well. Eventually the two musicians find a groove and the music becomes more natural. 

About halfway through, Rose hits a sour note. A minor seventh during a major, lively part caused a rift, and House looked up with an eyebrow raised.

"That's just an octave. How'd you miss it?" He questions, slightly annoyed. She had been reading the other chords quite well, mostly due to general music theory structure and less so to piano technique.  
"I can't reach." She states plainly and puts her hands to the keyboard, stretching as wide as they would go.

"Oh my gosh." He nearly snorts. "The hands match the height. How do you even perform surgeries?"

She scowls in reply. Then smiles, laughing lightly and shaking her head. He smiles back, unhindered, and she can feel her face flush at the sight.

"I really should finish in the kitchen.." She stammers a bit, feeling the heat of the moment.

"It’s not your mess, Rose.," he answers, nearly hissing her name. The low timbre of his voice sending lightning down her spine. He sidles up along side her and sits up a bit, placing his face just above hers. She tilts her head up welcomingly as he twists to his left and leans down closer to her, so close she can feel his breath on her face. The movement of his torso being just enough to edge his right knee out of alignment, lightning shoots up his spine as well.

"FUCK!" He jolts straight again and his hand flies to his thigh, gritting his teeth and biting back hot tears. 

She jumps off the bench before she realizes what happened. Standing a few feet away, Rose hopes it will pass like it does when she's seen this at work. He steps funny or twists funny and gets a shot of pain-- tenses for a minute and then it’s all good again. Upon seeing that that clearly isn't what's going to happen, she approaches him again.

He flinches when she puts a hand on his shoulder, and looks away, ashamed, when she bends down to look him in the eye. He barely meets her gaze and she looks at him silently, unsure what to do but not wanting to leave yet.

Finally, she decides to excuse herself to the bathroom, give him time. When she emerges a few minutes later, he's in the arm chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

She stands in front of him, hands on her hips. "So you get the good stuff and I'm stuck with beer?"

A pained smile etches his features. "You just washed all the glasses." 

When she returns with one, he gestures to the bottle of Maker’s Mark on the coffee table. She pours herself a single, downs it, pours another, and sits on the table across from him.

"What, establishing dominance?"

"No, catching up to you. Like I'd need to anywho. I could drink you under the table any day."

He scoffs incredulously. "Wanna bet?" He asks, downing his glass as well.

She crosses her legs and takes a gingerly sip. Smiles at the glass. "Not on this bourbon."

"Have to get Wilson to drive us,” House agrees, pointing aimlessly, “he can't hold his liquor for shit. It'd be nice to have someone who poses a challenge."

"You're on," she demands, rising and sticking out her hand to him. He slowly leans forward to grasp it, then yanks her toward him, hard. Her glass crashes out of her hand, shattering on the floor, and she catches herself on the arms of the chair, inches from his face.

He smiles wickedly. She kneels on either side of his hips in the chair, straddling his lap, and grabs his face, smiling with equal malice. Their eyes smolder with desire and she presses her lips to his, quickly entering a tango of tongues, exploring each other's mouths and battling for dominance. She can feel him hardening beneath her, and herself softening in anticipation.

Without breaking the kiss, she slides her hands up his t-shirt and runs them over his chest. He yanks her blouse from her skirt and, after fumbling for a moment, simply pops it open, buttons clattering to the floor amidst the quickly forgotten glass and whiskey.

When they break away for air, she pulls his shirt over his head and sits back to look at him. He ogles her the same.

He’s lean, not overly muscular. Broad shoulders. Defined and Manly. Just toned enough for his age. Soft, defined curves, petite, just the right size chest, fit but not muscular, feminine and terribly gorgeous.

He pulls her to him, and she rises on her knees to be above him. Lip locked again, House slides his hands up her skirt, then reaches back and unzips it, sliding it down past her hips and groping her ass.

She reaches down to undo his belt as he slides one hand up to tangle in her thick hair. Upon unzipping as well, she rubs her hand roughly over his boxers, feeling him throb in response. His hips twitch, and he runs his hand equally so between her legs, causing her back to arch and her head to throw back. Both gasp for breath and desperately grope at the other even further.

With the intensity growing even more so, House is about to break from the embrace to suggest they move to the bedroom, or at least the couch, when something thuds loudly on the floor of the entryway to the apartment.

In one swift motion, Rose whirls around and stands up, only to be met with the sight of Wilson, mouth agape, staring angrily at House. She scoops up her clothes and scurries away to the bathroom, panting as she leans against the slammed door. 

House over exaggerates re-doing his pants and belt, knowing full well he's about to get an earful. 

"I told you I was going to ask her out tonight!" Wilson bellows, throwing his hands in the air.

"She mentioned that you tried. Sort of laughed it off," House responds, clearly in the position to gloat.

"I got a page!" He hollers, exasperated.

House shrugs, smiling deviously.

"I've been gone forty five minutes!" Wilson shouts, his voice nearly cracking. "You couldn't give me the benefit of the doubt for forty five minutes?!"

House shrugs again, and Wilson turns to storm out, stopping and turning again when House asserts "You snooze you loose, Jimmy."

"Fuck you, House," he spits slamming the door.

"No thanks, Rose will be doing that tonight. Maybe tomorrow!" He shouts after him, knowing full well the hallway echoes like crazy.

He smiles a satisfied smile as Wilson slams his car door and angrily speeds away.

Rose slinks back out of the bathroom when she hears Wilson leave and House smiles broadly and rises, albeit slowly, from the chair. He shuffles slowly to the bedroom, where Rose steps out of her panties and unhooks her bra, tossing both to the side. She lays down on her back and begins to play with her breasts, immediately heightening House's arousal. He comes to the bed to join her and she reaches for his groin. When her hand contacts his jeans she hisses "those have got to go."

She sits up and undoes his belt, button, and fly, and begins to slide his pants down his legs. Mid thigh, he touches her arm and she stops, peers up at him.

His eyes shift from desire to embarrassment for a fleeting moment, and he looks away from her. Demanding his gaze, she reaches up to touch his cheek, and now he cannot hide the timid glint. Hers crinkle and soften and she shakes her head once and smiles a teeny bit, then raises an eyebrow in question. He blinks and takes a breath, then nods and she continues to slowly slide down his pants and boxers. He reaches into the nightstand for a condom, and hands it to her. She runs the tip of her tongue slowly up his length- causing him to shudder- before she rolls it on.

She lays back down on the bed and he presses his body flush to hers. When he comes up on his forearms and knees, his cock passes easily between the lips of her vagina, the head catching for an instant, causing her hips to jump.

She peers at him wide eyed, begging for release, and he slides inside of her deftly. Slowly at first. She leaves kisses and small bites on his neck and shoulders, and grabs his ass, guiding the angle of his hips as he thrusts. When the speed increases and her intensity builds, she digs her fingers into his triceps and begins to buck her hips in rhythm with his. His muscles tremble with intensity and she knows that he's close to the top as well.

It only takes one look from her to tell House that this is it, and he thrusts as fast as he can manage until she jerks and twitches under him, his name dying in a moan on her lips. The pulsing sensation caused by her orgasm serves to bring House over the edge as well, and he gasps and shudders seconds after.

Rolling off the condom and lying back to bask in his afterglow, House sighs. The endorphins coursing through his veins banishing any pain momentarily and allowing him to relax.

When he opens his eyes, Rose is sitting on the edge of the bed, shimmying back into her undergarments.

Groggily he asks, "where ya goin'?"

"I just figured…" she trails off, remembering Wilson’s comment about hookers and shrugging casually. She had no problem simply leaving for the night. 

"Figured wrong." He states, eyes closed.

She raises her eyebrows to herself, surprised, and lays down, rolling over, her back to him.

He peeks one eye open a few minutes later. Just from looking at her back he can see that she isn't asleep, and decides to take a chance. He slides up to her until their skin is flush, the heat comforting and enveloping, and drapes an arm over her waist. She tenses just a bit, then relaxes, and leans back further into him, bending her elbow so her arm lies next to his on her side.

Both smile a little in the dark, and drift to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place the morning after the previous.

Blue eyes open expecting to see the sun peaking through the curtains, but instead find nothing but thick hair draped over them. He inhales the scent of her sweet shampoo and a small smile comes over his face. He can tell by the sound of her breathing that she's still asleep, and judging by the amount of sun and the stiffness in his leg, it’s well past the time she must usually get ready for work. She'll probably be pissed when she wakes up, but House doesn't really care. 

It’s been a long time since he had a woman in his bed. An even longer time since he's had a woman he didn't pay for. And even longer still that he's woken up with a woman in his arms, and he intends to make it last as long as he can. His leg is beginning to protest, but the endorphins from the night before had allowed him to stay in bed and asleep for a reasonable amount of time-- longer than any days for the last few weeks, in fact.

Since Stacy, he hasn't had a serious relationship. And perhaps in some instances that was his fault. However, not only did Stacy take a piece of his leg, but also a piece of his soul, and with it most of his heart. Breaking someone's heart is one thing, but breaking their trust is another entirely. Physical pain could be dealt with. Heartbreak could be dealt with. But at the same time? 

Since Stacy, House hadn't opened up to anyone- much less a woman. Wilson was the exception of course, but even he wasn't privy to all of House's demons and all of House's pain. By no stretch of the imagination did House consciously think that he wanted to open up to someone, but even the few minor times Rose had shared in his pain had left an impression. An gentle impression perhaps he wasn't entirely aware was there.

Rose begins to awaken and rolls onto her back to look at the man behind her. He peers down at her, his eyes softer than she's ever seen them. Propped on one elbow, shirtless, and with the sun framing his messy curls softly, she can't help notice how much younger he looks. At that moment, she can't see the marks that years of pain have ingrained in him. Its serene. And incredibly sexy.

She begins to smile, and then notices the sun again.

"Shit!" She bolts upright. "It's gotta be almost nine!"

House peers over her shoulder at the nightstand, smirking. "9:07 actually."

Rose stands up and then regards herself, standing naked under House’s gaze, her skirt from yesterday more than likely splattered with whiskey, her shirt lacking all its buttons. She hasn't showered- hell, she doesn't even have a clean pair of underwear.  
"Shit! I gotta get home, shower, all that." House opens his mouth to interject. "Wait! Here's what we'll do. I'll run home and shower and stuff, and you get ready here. I have to come back this way anyhow and I can drive you in since your car is there still."

"I do own a motorcycle you know." She still stands there, hand in her hair with exasperation. He chides, "Just go. I'll see you at work."

\-----------------------

Rose picks up one of his t-shirts and holds it out as a question. He nods and she slips it on so she can at least walk outside partially clothed. It hits her at mid thigh. His groin says it’s hot- his head says adorable.

House watches her leave, pops a Vicodin, takes a quick shower, throws on his usual clothes, sweeps up the glass off the living room floor and heads to work.Feeling better than he has in weeks, the bike hums pleasantly under him and he strides into work with an air of confidence. 

The kids, of course, had chosen a few interesting cases, and they start working on one when he arrives.

When Rose strides in a few minutes later- as well put together as ever- the office is deserted. There’s a case file on the table for her and symptoms on the board. She reads over them quietly and pours a cup of coffee. Wilson strolls in.

"Morning, James." She says pleasantly.

Grunting, "A tad late today, aren't we?" He asks with annoyance.

"Didn't know you kept track of my punch clock," she returns, still reading over some preliminary test results.

"Enjoy your night last night?" Mock innocence drips in his tone.

"Why yes James, I did, thank you"

"Oh, what'd you do?"

"You know quite well who I did, Wilson. And you can be jealous and gode me all you want."

"What's the hospital policy on fraternization anyway?" He asks, eyes narrowing.

"Why, I don't know. How about you ask any of the half a dozen nurses you've banged in the past month?" She returns, finally looking up from the file.  
Before he can come up with a retort, she continues, "Look, James, you're a sweet guy, and had you gotten the entire question out, I probably would've gone on a date with you. Might've even spent the night. But you certainly cannot begrudge neither House nor I being interested in a person, and frankly, I don't care who finds out I slept with him. I don't make a habit of having dishonest or shameful sex. House made a successful move before you did. I'm not a teenager. Don't patronize me, James."

Wilson appears angry, but relaxes quickly. She's right, unfortunately. 

"Look." He begins, his tone much more serious. "House is… Well, House is… I told you quickly what happened to his leg?" 

She nods.

"I'm sure he'll tell you the entire story eventually, but the woman he was with at the time- Stacy- she chose to have the debridement done, as his proxy, while he was unconscious. He was livid of course, but he forgave her. He loved her. And when he was at his lowest. When the pain came and he really needed someone, she decided she couldn't handle it. And it destroyed him." 

He rubs the back of his neck and looks to Rose. She's mortified of course, but she nods for him to continue.

"Look, Rose, you work with him. You see him everyday. And so far, you've been keeping him in check, and he respects you very much- which is a feat for him. So if you're going to do this. If you're going to get involved, you've got to be sure that you can handle all that comes with it. It's been a long time since he opened up to someone and I… You better be absolutely sure you want this because if he opens up again and gets hurt…" He trails off and looks down. In nearly a whisper, "I don't think there'll be a next time."

"Wilson…" Rose begins, stepping back. "I slept with him last night, sure. And it’s quite probable that I'll sleep with him again. But I don't think that he's going to pour his heart out to me or fall in love with me in two nights, or even more than that.” She stops, contemplating-- the talk more serious than she bothered to consider when she was underneath House the night before.

“But James, if it comes to that, if it gets to the point where it’s more than sex and whiskey and he opens up like you say…" She stops, unsure of how to continue. "I mean, we’ve got a good thing going with this job and I don’t want to screw that up.We’ve all got baggage, and I doubt it’ll even get there.” 

When Wilson doesn’t give up his concerned look to her ramblings, Rose sighs. “I don’t make habits of breaking already damaged hearts. I won't hurt him, if it gets there."

"What? Arguing over who gets to screw me next?" House quips, limping in the door.  
"We thought we'd let you decide."

"Well lets see, dark hair, dark eyes, slightly younger, cute face. I've just got the pick of the lot don't I? She's the female version of you, Jimmy. But I like her boobs better. Those are some nice man-boobs you've got going on though." He smirks.

"Speak for yourself House. Fifty isn't treating you too kindly."

"Still got the big wood cane though…. If ya know what I mean." He winks gaudily at Rose. She rolls her eyes and sighs, going to sit down at her desk and leaving the two men in the conference room,

Silence ensues for a few moments until Wilson tentatively opens his mouth. "So, uh, how was she?" He questions, glancing in her direction.

House smiles wickedly and opens his mouth to answer, but Rose interrupts, leaning in the doorway between the two rooms.

"If you gentlemen are going to have this conversation, would you kindly have the decency to at least check and see if the door is shut first?"

Wilson blushes, embarrassed at his want to know, equally embarrassed that the thought of it has awakened some stirrings below the belt. He scurries away and House looks to Rose lustfully as he strides into the office.

"So what were you two gossip girls talking about?"

"Wilson wanted to know how big you are," she answers, deadpan.

Satisfied with the look of shock she leaves on House's face, she struts back to her desk, showing off the tight skirt she chose to wear that day. 

\----------------------------------------

"Dr. St. John!" Cuddy calls, striding toward her at the pharmacy counter.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Cuddy?"

"A bit late today, weren't we?"

"Unfortunately, yes, won't happen again."

"Yes it will."  
"I beg your pardon?"

"If you're going to be spending more nights with House, you'll more than likely be just as late as he."

Rose groans. "Wilson?" she questions. She was being honest when she’d told him she didn’t care if people knew, and surely it would be quite the gossip-- her being hired as his partner already was-- but she hadn’t realized news would spread quite this fast.

Cuddy shakes her head. "House hasn't been in that good a mood or had that little pain in months. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together when you came in late."

Rose shakes her head a little, slightly embarrassed. Not of House, but of the situation. She imagines most people would be embarrassed, having slept with him. And there are probably people who would judge her for it. But she doesn't regret it. He's interesting and he's damn good in the sack.

Cuddy meets Rose’s blank face with a slight smirk. "Usually I make House repay me in clinic hours. You've not been acquainted with that yet, have you?"

"No, I've not."

"Each doctor has a quota of five hours a week,” Cuddy tells her, walking over to the check in counter and giving the nurse a slight smile. “Most schedule it logically and do an hour or so a day, or two hours and then none the next. House of course always blows it off, but, you know. Its House. Anyway, you sign in with the nurse and just take the file that's on top. It’s usually simple ailments. Nothing to worry about."

Rose shrugs. "Well, the case House took was pretty simple today, surprisingly. I could surely knock out an hour or so now."

Cuddy bids her goodbye she grabs a file and enters exam room one.

\----------------------------

Before House can open his mouth Rose plops down in the comfy chair in their office and sighs. "I need a drink."

"That bad on your first run, huh?" He smirks, finally someone who isn't going to try and tell him that the clinic 'isn't that bad.'

"I walk in the room, and the guy's fucking naked."

House snorts, nearly spitting out the coffee he had just taken a sip of.

"And not only is he naked, but he has the smallest penis I've ever seen. Couldn't have been an inch."

House's eyes widen in disbelief.

"The guy can't figure out why his wife isn’t getting pregnant."

Laughing hysterically now, House grabs at his sides and tries to listen to the rest.

"So I tell him that we'll get his sperm count checked and then I'll refer he and his wife to a fertility specialist. And I hand him a sample cup and tell him to leave it with the nurse when he's finished."

House nods for her to continue.

"He asked me what he was supposed to do with the cup." She says, deadpan, still in disbelief herself.

House bursts into laughter. So much so, that Wilson comes in and asks what's going on. Through wracking waves of giggles, House tries to reiterate what Rose had told him. Finally, Rose runs down the story for Wilson as well. He, in turn, begins laughing just as hard as House is.

Rose just rubs at her temples and shakes her head.

Eventually Wilson leaves and she and House sit in silence for a while longer. Then he rises, grabs his backpack and keys and walks to her desk. She looks up, and he's looking at her quite intently, so she puts her pen down and returns the gaze. For a second, he looks away almost sheepishly, then he turns to her, and, before she reacts properly, gives her a chaste kiss and strides quickly from the room.

She reels a bit, her face tingling from his stubble. Then she smiles and shakes her head.

Wilson comes by a few minutes later and asks if she's headed to House's.

"Yeah. Where else would I go?"

Wilson smirks. "Habits are habits, eh?"

She nods. "I'm going to stop at the store on the way. Get something to cook with. I'm sick of takeout." She adds silently that she’ll probably bring a change of clothes too-- to avoid that morning’s shower debacle.

"Be my guest, see ya in a bit." He waves and continues down the hall.

Rose sits back. It’s a funny crowd she's found herself with. The three amigos: cranky genius, caring lionheart, and… What was she exactly? Caring? sure, but not outwardly so. Confident. Hard headed. Perceptive. Almost a combination of extremes. She fit right in the middle between House and Wilson. Was beginning to serve as a buffer in fact. Curious how things worked out. 

But Wilson was a great friend and colleague. And House… well, she liked House. Liked working with him- even if he could be a total ass. Liked sleeping with him surely. Could even like caring for him, if it came to that. Wilson’s warning replaying in her head. She wasn't out to save him, certainly not. But no one should be miserable. 

He was intriguing. Sexy. And perhaps somewhere in there, there was something the pain hadn't quite managed to break.

She packs up her bag as well and turns the lights out in the office. Teams-- especially those that felt like families-- were a big thing in the federal agent world. And this wasn't far from that. After three weeks or so, it was beginning to feel like home.


End file.
